Put on a Happy Face
by Phx
Summary: Tag to ELAC and birthday gift for Trasan: If they had known there were two of them, things might have been different. Straight forward, good old fashioned hurtSam/bigbrotherDean. Two shot.
1. Chapter 1

Set after 'Everyone Loves a Clown'

Surprise! Happy Birthday TraSan! This is a two shot for you, girl. I hope you like: just straight good old fashioned hurt/comfort.

Thank you, Red Hardy, for the wonderfully quick beta.

**Put on a Happy Face**

**Chapter 1**

Sam walked. He had no destination in mind, he just walked. Away from Dean's anger, past Bobby's house, down the road.

One foot in front of the other. Mindless. Automatic. Just like his living had become –

While inside he burned.

Sam thought he understood loneliness; tasted and tested when he first went to Stanford, and he thought he knew grief; scorching and bitter when Jessica died. But nothing prepared him for this: the loss of his father and the devastating affect it was having on his brother.

And for the first time in his entire life, the young man truly felt alone.

Even after he had walked away from them, Sam knew Dean had always been a phone call away if he ever needed him. And his brother had been a constant during the turmoil of his lover's loss, cajoling the pain out of him in a schizophrenic show of support. Sometimes a quiet presence that listened to his crying in the dark and other times, loud and threatening as food was practically shoved down his throat –

But not now. Not this time.

This time Sam was alone. Truly and utterly alone. And to make matters worse, Dean was angry at him. Furious even and the young man could only surmise how much Dean blamed him for. But since his own guilt was a bottomless pit, he could only assume his brother's blame was that, and much more.

Sam wasn't stupid or naive. He knew that during the two and a bit years he'd been gone his brother and father had gotten even closer than before, so it was ironic that the demon had taunted that _Sam_ was John's favorite. The malignant being must have gotten them mixed up with some other Winchesters.

The hurting hunter stopped walking and just stood there. Behind him lay the only family he had. In front of him lay the unknown, but the idea of going forward was far less scary than the idea of going back.

And just how wrong was that?

He knew his brother was terrified that Sam would leave but, hell, Sam was terrified to stay. The demon still had plans for him. His family murdered, Dean almost so, just because they had gotten in the way?

Sam shivered and started walking again.

Dean would be next. Hell, Dean had almost been next.

The horror of how close he had come to watching his brother die – the memory of watching the medical team fight Dean's heart back to life – staggered the exhausted young man.

Sam wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach and dropped to his knees, his tear streaked face hung in defeat. He couldn't do this anymore.

It had been hard enough before, but now – now everything was too much…

And if that wasn't enough, the sound of someone walking in front of him would have been… Especially when he slowly raised his head and looked right into the face of a clown.

------

Dean leaned against the busted car and exhaled loudly. His back and shoulders ached and quivered with fatigue. He was worn out both physically and emotionally but between his car and his younger brother, the weary hunter had no idea which had truly taken the brunt of his grief.

He was mad at Sam. His father. The demon. Hell, he was just angry. What a shit pack of cards life had dealt him to play. It was like trying to build a house of water. Sometimes it was cold enough, the water froze and Dean actually felt like he'd put up some walls but then – badda boom, badda bing – along came spring thaw and he was left up to his knees in water again.

In truth, he was more scared then angry. His father was really gone this time, not just off on some hunt or leading them around with a string of text messages. But truly gone. Dead. Totally off the radar and that left Dean in charge – and that really scared him.

His father had taught him many things except that. Even when the great John Winchester was missing, Dean knew he was still out there somewhere and held out hope that if things got bad enough, the man could still somehow swoop in and save the day. Give Dean the answers he needed but now, bit by bit, it was sinking in that the man was never going to be able to do that again. His father was dead and Dean was scared.

He had no idea how to help Sam when he was struggling so hard to save face himself. So it was easier to be angry with his brother than to try to help him and while he felt bad about some of the things he'd said to the kid, other things were true. The only problem was, Sam said some truths too and those hurt just as well.

Dean wasn't handling his father's death at all. One look at the bashed in trunk of his car, or one remembrance of the searing pain in his brother's eyes before Sam had walked away, foretold that. If he didn't get his act together and figure out some way to deal this latest hand of cards, or how to put up another God forsaken wall of water, there were still things he could lose. And that is what made him heave in a huge lungful of air, drop the tire iron and head towards the house. He needed to make sure Sam wasn't doing anything stupid and then he was going to get some actual honest to goodness sleep before he dropped with exhaustion.

But when he went into the house, Sam wasn't there. Only Bobby, frowning as he hung up the phone and turned towards Dean.

"Everything okay?" the younger hunter was programmed to ask no matter how tired he was or how very little he wanted to know.

"Just had an interesting call from Hank Peters," Bobby pursed his lips. The name rang a bell. Hank was another hunter Dean and his father had run into on occasion. Dean didn't think Sam knew the man though. "He had some info on that Rakshasa you boys were hunting."

"What's to tell?" Dean grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge and gulped it down before finishing. "We got the sucker good, end of story."

"Was there only one?" Bobby's question sent a chill through Dean's body.

"What?" he demanded, an uneasy feeling curling around his gut as the water hit his stomach hard.

"Well according to Hank, these things live in small family groups, two or three at most."

"That's not what we found out." Dean rubbed his stomach and willed the water to stay down. "Sam-"

"Sam's research was wrong," Bobby interrupted brusquely. "Wouldn't be the first time. Wikipedia don't know jack shit on some things."

Dean stiffened, his jaw tightened. "Now you wait a minute here, Bobby-"

"You know I don't mean it like that, ya idjit," the older man huffed out obviously picking up on the prickliness. "Sam's a damn good researcher but 'ccording to Hank that ain't commonly known info on them. And we both know that what's in a hunter's head is more reliable than anything in any book or on the internet. Most times."

"And depending on the hunter," Dean felt the need to add. He reached up and scrubbed at his forehead, the beginning of a tension headache throbbing across his brow.

Bobby lifted an eyebrow in agreement. "So can I take that as a no? There wasn't more then one?"

"Not that we saw," it pained Dean to admit. He hated the idea that they may have screwed up on this. Glancing past Bobby towards the living room, he hated that he had to ask. "Sam here?"

The older man gave him an odd look. "Thought he was still outside with you."

"Damnit," Dean hissed, running a hand through his short hair in agitation. "This is great. Just great."

"You boys have a falling out?" Bobby guessed and Dean knew the older man wasn't stupid. He had to have heard the mess the younger hunter had made of the car.

"Something like that," Dean admitted and then moved towards the door. "You got wheels I can borrow to take a spin down the road?"

"You think Sam'd leave?" Bobby frowned and followed him.

Dean stopped just outside the house and glanced around the junkyard. He thought about it hard for a moment and then shook his head. "Nah, but I do think he'd want some away from me time."

"Well c'mon then, we'll take my car." He shot Dean a look when the other man opened his mouth to argue. "What? You actually think I'd loan either of you two yahoos another car right now? Your rate of return really sucks. Now c'mon, before the other Rakshasa – the one you boys didn't know about – finds himself a new chew toy."

"You think it'd follow us here?" Dean wasn't used to being the hunted party. He slid into the passenger seat of Bobby's car and slammed the door shut.

"Dunno," Bobby admitted. "But you really want to assume it didn't?"

The remembered look of pain on Sam's face just before he walked away had Dean shaking his head. If anything happened to his brother before they got things sorted out between them, Dean would never forgive himself. "No," he admitted, "I don't."

------

_There were two_, was Sam's immediate thought as he scrambled to his feet and struggled to put some space between the clown and himself. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid_, was his next thought as he realized he was completely unarmed.

The clown smiled grotesquely as it continued its approach but when Sam turned to run, it suddenly appeared right in front of him and slammed him backwards with a powerful blow to the chest.

Sam hit the ground hard and immediately started to roll to the side but the Rakshasa was on him too fast, its white gloved hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing tight.

As the pressure increased, Sam clawed and struggled hard to get away but the creature easily kept him down, cutting off his air supply and seeming to take great pleasure in strangling him.

It licked its red lips as Sam's heart pounded and his stomach lurched. These things were cannibals.

_Oh God, no, oh God, no!_

Blackness encroached…

It was getting harder to fight.

Sam's struggles grew weaker…

Why was he fighting again?

His hands dropped uselessly to his sides.

But just before he lost total consciousness, the horrific clown smiled even wider, displaying razor sharp teeth, then bit deep into Sam's shoulder and started to rip –

Blessedly, the young hunter was unconsciousness before the creature started to chew.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Set after 'Everyone Loves a Clown'

I am feeling better - can anyone tell? Anyways, thanks for all the wonderful comments. I am glad people are enjoying the story. And once again, Trasan here is the rest of your birthday gift!

**Put on a Happy Face**

**Chapter 2**

Dean's fingers drummed the dash of Bobby's car impatiently as the car tore down the dirt road and away from the house. He was leaned forward, his hazel eyes keenly sweeping the oncoming road for any signs of his missing brother.

He was pretty certain Sam had come this way; a lifetime of knowing the kid dictating that certainty. The only trouble was he had no idea just what kind of head start his brother had on them. Once Dean had turned his incompetent rage on the Impala he had lost all notice of the world around him – his grieving little brother included.

Guilt and grief warred, but concern overruled them both. He needed to find Sam and make sure the younger man was all right, as much for himself as his brother.

Dean had lost too much in his life and he'd be damned first before he'd add Sam into that list of losses.

"What the…?" Bobby's incredulous voice tore Dean's attention to the older man. He saw the flicker of movement out the driver's side at the exact same moment.

What looked like – _ah, shit, why'd it have to be another clown? _– a clown dragging something across the road in front of them.

Dean felt his heart leap out his mouth –

That _something_ was his brother.

The friggin' creature was dragging his brother by the leg towards the wooded side of the road. Sam was on his back, his long arms dragging limply behind him and Dean couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

"Oh Christ," he growled, already reaching for the door as Bobby slammed on the brakes.

"Git your brother." Bobby didn't have to tell him twice as the two men raced towards the Rakshasa, Dean diverting towards Sam, Bobby directly at the creature.

"Let him go, you sonnovabitch!" Dean yelled as he grabbed at one of his brother's outstretched arms. For one brief second there was sick game of tug-o-war between him and the clown before Bobby lunged and the slick sound of knife through flesh dropped the monster. In a moment it was nothing but a mess of colorful rags and a horrid wig.

"How's Sam?" Bobby demanded, breathing harshly, brass knife still held in his hand.

Dean didn't even bother to ask why Bobby was carrying brass, too damn happy he was. Instead he turned his attention back to his brother, grimacing as he took in the bloody bite, the finger marks on his brother's neck and the numerous new cuts and scrapes to add to Sam's already damaged face.

"Aw, man," he grumbled gently, as he quickly checked his brother's pulse underneath Sam's jaw. "And you were just starting to look normal again." He paused, closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh of relief as he felt the rapid beating beneath his fingertips. He looked back down at his brother fondly, "Not that you ever looked normal to begin with. Freakishly long arms and legs and all…"

Stripping off his over shirt, Dean made a quick pressure bandage for Sam's shoulder then waited for Bobby to grab Sam's legs before carefully lifting the unconscious hunter and moving him towards Bobby's car.

Sam groaned as the movement jarred his shoulder then started to struggle. Immediately both men lowered him back to the ground, afraid of dropping him.

Dean crouched beside his brother and waited as Sam's eyelids fluttered and then flew open.

"No!" The younger hunter struggled to his elbows and tried to crab crawl away. His voice was hoarse and painful to hear.

"Whoa, easy, bro." Dean didn't try to touch Sam, recognizing his brother's confusion and not wanting to risk some serious retaliation if the spooked hunter fought back. "It's just me. The big and bad is done and gone – no more beasties in bad make-up for you today."

Sam's gaze skittered past Dean, taking in a concerned looking Bobby and the yellow car with the open door. "W-where?" he choked out after a moment when he finally settled on Dean's face and focused, finally seeing his brother for the first time. "W-hat?" And the pain from his shoulder must have kicked in because he let himself sink back against the ground and groaned.

Now Dean touched him.

Reaching forward, he gave Sam's forearm a squeeze. "I'll explain later. Right now, do you think you can walk? I'd really like to get back to the house. My legs are cramping here."

Sam inhaled carefully, then let it out. "Yeah," he grit out, not that there was much choice. Mostly conscious, he was too proud to let himself be carried… but helped? That was another thing; nothing shameful about needing to lean on your brother in the Winchester book of bravado and brass balls. In fact it was sort of expected.

Funny how Dean seemed to have forgotten that in the last little while…

Sliding an arm behind Sam's back, Dean grabbed a fistful of shirt and carefully heaved his brother up, keeping a firm grip on the kid as Sam hissed in pain and started to shuffle slowly towards the car.

Bobby watched and just shook his head. "Idjits" he muttered with a fondly exasperated sigh. "Damn _fool_ idjits."

------

The trip back to the house was a blur of lucidity and acrobatics. There had been a wrestling match getting Sam both in and then out of the car. Some cursing by all – and gasping in Sam's case – when the few steps up the front porch suddenly loomed like a cliff wall, challenging octopus limbs and bare consciousness in an interesting array of almost spills and heroic saves. Then in a true experience in multi-tasking, Sam was manhandled onto the couch, his shirt stripped off, boots flung to the side, painkillers and whiskey coaxed down his sore throat while a needle was threaded and Dean kept up a running commentary.

"_Damn clowns. Damn Rakshasa. Damn minivans. Damn Wikipedia…"_

Okay, so Dean's current vocabulary was a bit limited…

Sam would later swear that his brother had started sewing him up before his head even hit the pillow Bobby had shoved under him on the way down. Not that he minded. His last memory was of Dean leaning over him, promising Sam that everything was going to be just fine and that it was okay if he wanted to pass out or something.

Not exactly the worse way to lose consciousness…

When Sam woke up next, he was warm and comfortable and no longer on the couch, the pain in his shoulder reduced to a dull throb although his throat still felt like he'd gargled glass.

The bed he was lying in was soft, the light in the room, muted, and it took him a few moments to remember where he was – Bobby's – and why – killer clown.

Suppressing a shiver as the horrid painted face loomed over him, Sam gasped roughly and sat up, the blankets sliding down his bare chest and pooling around his waist. Snippets of memory told him he was safe but he still jerked around at the sound of someone else in the room, his good hand coming up to protect his heavily bandage swathed shoulder. The world swam for a second and Sam closed his eyes until he was sure he wasn't going to puke, then heard the sound again.

It was a snore. Opening his eyes, Sam's face softened as he saw his brother, big bad demon hunter, Dean Winchester, still fully dressed and lying on his back, sprawled out in the other bed. The younger man had no memory of being moved from the couch to the upstairs and didn't envy the older men the obvious task but he appreciated it more then he could ever say. This room, the smaller of the two spare rooms in Bobby's house, was as close to a real home as Sam had ever known. And there was just something additionally comforting about waking up here when you were injured.

An uncomfortable pressure in his bladder made Sam grimace. As much as he really just wanted to lie back down and get some more sleep, he had some things that needed to be taken care of first.

A loud rumble from his stomach as he slowly inched his way out of bed and stood up, almost doubled him over. Sam honestly couldn't remember the last time he ate and whiskey on an empty stomach didn't count. In fact, the injured man was pretty sure that if he didn't eat something soon, he was going to puke. Although the thought of trying to swallow past his damaged throat almost brought tears to his eyes. This was not going to be pleasant…

Thankful that they'd left him in his jeans, Sam moved quietly and used his good hand to tug the body warmed comforter off his own bed and awkwardly covered his brother. What he lacked in finesse, he more than made up for with intentions.

Dean stirred slightly and Sam froze as his brother grumbled something about 'friggin' spinach' and 'plugging someone'; he waited until the older hunter resettled, well more _snuggled_ under the comforter then anything else, before moving again.

The house was cool but Sam didn't even consider grabbing a shirt pretty certain that he'd never be able to get it on right now and definitely not before his bladder exploded.

There was a bathroom at the end of the hall and after finishing up, he carefully washed his hands and then started the arduous trek downstairs. It might have helped if he'd turned on the lights but Sam didn't want to risk waking up either of the older men, knowing that Dean in particular could use some decent sleep.

The painkillers kept him muzzy and only a firm grip on the handrails saved him from an ungraceful descent, however by the time he got to the kitchen he was shaking from more than the chill. Deciding that he needed to sit for a moment before seeing what was in the fridge that he might be able to swallow, Sam gingerly lowered himself down in a chair at the table.

God, he felt like crap. Drugged up, chewed up crap. And now his shoulder was beginning to really throb like a sonnovabitch. Guess the drugs were wearing off.

Lowering his head to the table, a soft groan whispered painfully past dry lips as Sam pressed his cheek against the cool wood and closed his eyes. He'd rest for just a minute and then get something to eat.

Yeah… that's exactly… what'd he –

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz….

-----

Dean quirked an eyebrow and smiled as he leaned against the wall in the kitchen doorway and saw his brother asleep, slumped over Bobby's kitchen table.

For one adrenaline fueled second when he'd awoken and saw Sam's bed empty, he'd been terrified something bad had happened and that there was a third Rakshasa or something. It would be just their luck.

But then he noticed that _someone_ had covered him up and figured anything nasty enough to eat Sam wasn't about to let the kid make sure his big brother was comfortable first. And that allowed him a much more controlled search of the upstairs. The toilet seat down told part of the story as Sam was the only guy in the house who put the seat down when he finished, just in case – and then down to the kitchen.

Figures the kid would be hungry, Dean thought as he crossed the floor and crouched down next to his brother. A quick visual left him satisfied that his brother was breathing and the blood hadn't bled through the stitches and bandage. Grimacing at the memory of _that_ bit of first aid, Dean marveled at how lucky his little brother was. If the creature had done any more damage the kid would have needed more than a Dr. Dean and Nurse Bobby fix up. Mind you, if Bobby ever heard Dean refer to him that way, it'd be Dr. _Eunuch_ Dean after that and wouldn't their Dad –

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Wouldn't their Dad think nothing… Dad was dead.

But _Sam_ wasn't.

Opening his eyes again, Dean watched his brother for a few moments more, letting the 6'4" geek ground him, before pulling himself together and standing up. If Sam was in the kitchen then Sam was hungry and the least he could do, after verbally ripping the kid a new one only hours earlier, was get him something to eat.

There was an irony here that Dean found darkly amusing as he opened the fridge and checked out the leftovers. Sam wanted so badly to help him cope that he pushed and poked until Dean finally _shoved_ back, but the stupid kid never got that his being around – Sam's being _here_ – helped Dean more than any amount of sharing could ever do…

And there were no words for Dean to tell him that. But there were other ways.

Closing the bottom part of the fridge, the hunter opened the freezer and grinned when he saw an almost empty tub of ice cream in the back. There wasn't much in it, just enough for one super-sized and hurting little brother. Sam's throat would probably really appreciate it.

Turning back to the table, Dean started slightly to see Sam awake and watching him.

"Geez, man – give a guy a heart attack, why don't ya?"

Sam opened his mouth to say something, then grimaced and reached up to rub at his throat.

"Sore huh?" was an easy guess as Dean opened a drawer and pulled out a spoon. His brother gave a miserable nod. "Well then lucky for you, I'm such an awesome dude and fought off freezer burn just to get this for you." He paraded the tub of ice cream to the table and plopped it down in front of Sam, deftly hooking off the lid. He held out the spoon then shook it when his brother didn't reach for it immediately. "If you think I'm feeding you…"

A dirty look was the reward for his consideration as Sam finally took the utensil.

"See? Was that so hard?" Dean asked as he headed into the living room and swiped a blanket off the end of the couch. He was happy to see Sam tentatively digging one-handedly into the frosty treat when he came back. Easing the cover over his brother's bare shoulders Dean shrugged off the look of gratitude. He didn't do things like this for thanks. He did it in place of his words.

_I love you. Be careful. I'm glad you're here_, all rolled up in an old blanket and wrapped around chilled skin.

And thankfully, his brother seemed to get it.

But just in case he didn't, Dean swallowed hard then blurted out, "He knows Sam, okay? Dad knows. And if he didn't, he'd have to be an idiot not to have figured it out… You don't fight like that with people you don't love." He frowned. That didn't come out exactly the way he wanted. "Okay, maybe some people do, but Dad doesn't – _didn't_ – and I don't. And well, if you can't figure it out by yourself, then I can't help you… Now if you're done gawking at me, can you eat that so we can get your heavy ass back upstairs and get some sleep before Bobby or even worse, Ellen, finds us something else to chew on your gigantic ass? Or shoulder… Well you know what I mean." And see? That was exactly why Dean didn't talk about these kinds of things. He sounded like an idiot.

And if Sam's look got any softer, Dean was going to puke.

Sam shoved what was left of the ice cream towards Dean and silently offered his spoon.

"No friggin' way, dude," Dean leaned back and grabbed a new spoon. "Like I want your cooties… It's probably some lame-assed plot to infect me or something."

Now Sam was laughing and, God help, trying not to choke to death as he did so, and Dean inhaled it all like balm for his aching soul.

There were still a lot of things messed up in their lives but as long as he could still make his little brother laugh, there had to be some un-messed up things left too.

Mind you, two minutes later when Sam almost suffocated on mirth, Dean was left to wonder.

------

When Bobby found them in the morning, the two idiots were asleep in the living room, Sam on the couch, Dean leaned against it on the floor, an empty ice cream container and two sticky spoons left in the middle of the table in the kitchen.

But it was in the way the brothers were turned towards each other, their heads almost touching at the edge of the couch, that had a fond smile twitching his grizzled face.

Whatever else John Winchester had done wrong, including dying too soon, _this_ he had done right.

Then the weary hunter went back upstairs to take a shower. Something was telling him that this was going to be another long day. And if nothing else, he needed to see about getting a new trunk lid for a certain black car.

_Idjits._

The End


End file.
